7. Nate

SEVEN

For the firsttime in years, instead of burning my emotions through resistance training, I marched through the crowded gym near my building and picked up a pair of boxing gloves. The heavy punching bag was hanging in front of me while I raged like a maniac. I hadn't done any proper boxing in longer than I cared to admit, and my form was hurting because of it. My reputation, too, according to a few strange looks I received.

But I needed it.

I needed to beat the shit out of something. I needed to work through this without getting drunk and passing out in my bed. That was the most tempting choice, but I knew it wouldn't help.

Once the muscle burn reached all the way through my arms and pecs into my abs and sweat was dripping from my head, I ripped the gloves off my hands and went to the locker room shower. This gym was passable. Its proximity to my place was the main draw, next to the solution to my issue of running into Carter, where it was too dangerous for us to stand together.

Especially now, after he had said some mind-altering things, after his words had nestled deep in my heart, I found myself in a hole out of which I couldn't crawl. Fighting punching bags wouldn't help me, either, but at least I was tired enough to sleep tonight.

God dammit, Carter.I couldn't get him out of my head after he'd left my office.

Everything seemed to be crashing around me in the days that followed. Carter didn't show up for drills. Ron promised that Carter was recovering and feeling better, but I was the only one who knew the truth. All the truth.

I wished I didn't know.

Not only did Dana Prince's son grow to resent his father and hate the sport he was born to play, but he was also attracted to me enough to kiss me so carelessly in the middle of a street.

And you loved it, my treacherous conscience reminded me. You loved his lips on yours. You loved the feel of his hands on your body. You loved his youth, didn't you? His innocence. He has never lived in the shadows, twitching and looking over his shoulder like all your other partners. He's never cowered from his true self. You envied his courage, and you loved his innocent soul.

There never seemed to be a time in the next few days when I wasn't acutely aware of Carter being on my mind. Even if it was somewhere in the periphery of my consciousness, I knew he was there. Not seeing him worried me.

I could understand a young man being ashamed after getting rejected, but Carter's behavior wasn't just that. He wouldn't have admitted all those things if he'd only been embarrassed by a silly little kiss.

A silly little kiss that had taken ten years off my weary soul…

Beckett and Caden visited me on Tuesday evening. It was unexpected since I'd given them all a break tonight before the trip. The two young men were dressed fairly casually, but they still looked like they cared about their appearances.

"What, tonight?" I asked after hearing their idea.

"Why not?" Beckett asked.

I scratched the back of my head and walked around the kitchen island to find something to keep my hands busy. "I don't know, Beck. We're leaving early tomorrow. Chicago's a big deal."

"It's not our first out-of-town game, Uncle," Beckett said.

Caden chuckled. "We're capable of going out without getting shitfaced, Nate."

"I'd have to put up with people recognizing me," I said.

"That's just it," Beckett said. "This isn't one of our hockey bars. It's an underground brewery. Think hipsters, indie kids, nobody who's into sports, basically."

"That's right. Before I came out to the team, I used to go on dates there. That crowd doesn't know that hockey exists." He was the reasonable one in their relationship, and he still made no sense to me.

"You always say how you want to spend more time together," Beckett accused me. "I'm leaving next year, Uncle. You'll have to wait for me to retire if we miss this chance."

"Fine," I sighed. "Fine, just give me a minute to get ready."

The two boys bumped fists together, and I rolled my eyes. I put my attire together on the go, grabbing a long-sleeved shirt with a small flower pattern to break the monotony and dark pants that emphasized my physique. Despite everything, I knew I was a vain man, and it felt good to wear something custom-made for my body.

Beckett insisted on getting us an Uber from my place. The brewery was a little further out, and I didn't feel like leaving my car there after caving in and having a drink. It was ironic how Beckett offered to pay, considering that I had loaded his trust fund for academic purposes, but I couldn't tease him too hard. The simple fact was that I never stopped being proud of this kid.

We got out of the car in front of a run-down building. There were descending stairs on the sidewalk in front of the building and music coming from below. A few young guys and girls were standing a few paces away from us, sharing a joint, and one shot us a suspicious look until we moved toward the stairs.

"I'm too old for this shit," I grumbled.

"Keep saying that and it might come true," Beckett warned me.

"He's right," Caden agreed. "I don't think I ever met an older thirty-eight-year-old."

I snorted. "Just get in."

We entered a dimly lit pub with a rugged yet warm interior. Red brick, wood, and industrial themes paired with dark orange lights. Most of the tables were occupied, but there were a few in the back where shadows prevailed over the lights, and we carried our tall glasses of craft beer to one of those. Beckett had, once again, pointedly insisted on paying, but when we sat down, he shot me a grin. "Thanks for the drinks, Uncle."

"My pleasure," I said, and I meant it. It wasn't like I hadn't planned for my nephew to have some fun in college when I established his fund. "I didn't realize there would be live music on a Tuesday night."

"Neither did I," Beckett said. "Surprises are never-ending."

"This indie crowd doesn't have weekends," Caden explained.

I tasted my beer and wrinkled my nose.

Beckett scoffed. "You're as sensitive as a fair maiden, Uncle. It's just hops."

"I'm used to more refined flavors, nephew," I growled. "I shouldn't trust a college student to pick my drinks."

"That's precisely who you should trust," Beckett argued. "We have the most fun. Don't we, babe?"

"I can't disagree with that," Caden said, glancing so lovingly at Beckett that my heart sank. They were wonderful, and they reminded me of all I had chosen not to have. When I had been their age, I could have taken that path, but it would have cost me everything that made me who I was.

"Are you ready for the big game?" I asked casually.

That was an easy conversation starter for both of them. Beckett and Caden could talk endlessly about hockey. The talk veered off to their futures. They talked about their ambitions, their teammates, and their time together. It was genuinely sweet to see two boys their age function in such a compatible way. They didn't agree on everything. They hardly ever did. Few things happened without them raising hell, but they rarely made the wrong decision simply because arguing over every detail was their nature and made for a thorough decision-making process.

When a screeching voice from the stage on the far end of the pub pulled all of our gazes, I almost spat my beer. "Is that Ron Rigby?" I asked. "What the hell's going on, guys?"

Caden was as surprised as I was, but Beckett seemed to be having the best time of his life. He laughed out loud. "This is ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,'" he declared. "Who the hell's got a gun on this guy to force him out on the stage?"

Ron Rigby trudged through the song, butchering most of it with a shameless grin on his face.

"Did you know about this?" I asked them both. I'd hoped not to run into familiar faces for once. Or faces that found mine familiar.

"Nope," Caden said.

Beckett shook his head. "The ways the universe works, huh?"

People were paying attention to the stage while Ron Rigby decimated the final verses.

"Did he have to pick such a long song?" Beckett joked.

I leaned in toward them both. "If I hear you teasing this kid once, you'll answer for it. Understood?"

"Understood," Beckett said casually.

Caden was more serious when he looked at me. "We wouldn't do that."

Rigby bowed elaborately to the cheering, laughing crowd, and I slid lower in my chair to avoid being seen. Not that he could see me. The lights were pointed at the stage, and I was in the shadows.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Ron said into the microphone. "Now that I've lubed you up with my honey voice, I'd like to present my good friend with a guitar improv. It's better than it sounds. But can it compete with my birdsong? You'll have to be the judges on that." He enjoyed the spotlight as much as anyone, but my vision blurred, and Ron went out of focus.

I knew who his guitar-playing friend was. It couldn't be anyone else.

Timidly, Carter Prince climbed the three steps to the small stage, where Ron was setting up a chair and securing the microphone on the stand.

"No way," Caden huffed.

"Is he seriously doing this?" Beckett asked me as if I knew the answers.

"Way to go, Prince," Caden commented. To Beckett, he said, "I thought he was a lot more stuck-up."

Not Carter. If anyone wanted to be detached from wealth and fame, it was this young man.

My heart was beating in my throat. He was having a string of bad days. The last thing he needed was public humiliation if this went sour. What the hell were they thinking? Fear gripped all my limbs, keeping me seated. It was good because my instinct was to get on that stage and drag him somewhere safe.

But when Ron stalked away, Carter ran his fingers over the strings, testing the sound. In the next instant, he began playing a simple little tune. It was nothing special to those who didn't know what Carter was going through right this minute.

The boy had opened his heart to a much older man only to be coldly refused, then cocooned himself away from the sport his father's ambition had ruined for him, and now he dared to play his music in front of a crowd of unknowns.

Dear Carter, I thought. What possessed you to do this? The murmurs filled the room as people lost interest. Unlike Ron, Carter wasn't ruining his reputation by being showy. He was playing from his heart, however light and slow the music was.

But as the chatter rose, so did his music. As he ran his fingers over the strings, more elaborate tunes rose, quieting the crowd.

My heart lurched. It was a mournful melody only a heartbroken nineteen-year-old could come up with.

"Holy fuck," Beckett said. "'Scuse me, Uncle."

I didn't pay attention to my nephew's teasing. In fact, my focus had narrowed completely on Prince up on the stage and the music he was playing. The melody kept rising to an impossible level, not in volume but in tension. I wondered how he would resolve this. It felt like a total conundrum. He couldn't possibly untangle the motifs he played in a satisfying way. It went up and up and up to new heights, complicating the simple tunes he had opened this show with. And when it felt like all the breaths in the room were held and all eyes were on him, Carter glanced up from the guitar. The shy look now bore all the pride and determination I had never seen on him, not even when he helped the Titans secure their victory against the Breakers. His fingers moved faster, and he brought on total carnage. The themes dissolved into a mad flurry of incredible notes. A bit of an Andalusian melody entered his piece, and he half played the strings and half drummed the wild rhythm against the guitar's body.

I'd never seen anyone do anything like it.

Ovations rose through the crowd as Carter mercilessly drummed the guitar's body and strummed the strings. How he did both at the same time was a total mystery to me, who had never plucked a string in his life. Even as the crowd cheered, Carter wasn't ending. And like I knew he would, he ended on his terms, tiring the pub's patrons into silence before bringing on an explosive crescendo that stunned us. When he was done, there wasn't a chair with an ass still on it in the entire pub, including ours.

Beckett pushed forward through the crowd, and my heart dropped.

"Where's he going?" I growled.

"To bring them here, I think," Caden said.

Fuck.But Carter took all the breaths away in the room, and he ogled at us all from the stage as if he had no idea what he had done. For all the natural talent he had exhibited on the ice, it was nothing compared to his guitar skill.

Beckett and Ron cleared the way for the undisputed star of the evening as they reached our table. Caden hurried to bring extra chairs, and people tapped Carter's shoulders. He reacted much the same way he had when I had praised his performance on the ice — mainly with confusion that anything he did could be incredible.

He had tried speaking to me, but I hadn't listened. I hadn't understood how deep his passion was for music and how insecure he was.

When the three neared the table, Carter looked from Caden to me, and his face turned red. If that was all, I might have survived it, but the sadness in his eyes was like a dagger stabbed straight into my heart. I had hurt him, I knew, but it was for the best. It was for his own good that I had pushed him away.

If he didn't understand that now, it was alright. He would, someday, when his heart turned to someone appropriate.

And I would be happy for him. This fluttering attraction that I felt was nothing but a passing whim of a man past his prime. I'd missed out on all the good things, but I wasn't going to use my best friend's son to feel like I hadn't. However appealing the thought was and however beautiful that fleeting touch had been, I wouldn't let my resolve cave in.

Only disaster awaited if I did.

We sat down. Carter was still looking at me while Beckett and Caden went to the bar to fetch more drinks.

"Well done, Prince," I said, mindful of the fact that Ron Rigby was sitting next to me.

"Thanks, Coach," Carter said casually and looked away.

"What? No ‘well done' for Rigby?" Ron teased. "Ah, I gotta take a leak anyway. Stage fright." He laughed and got up, then disappeared into the crowd.

"I didn't expect to see you," Carter said to the wall behind me.

"I didn't expect to be here." I leaned forward and waited for him to look at me. When he didn't, I still spoke from my heart. "I see now that you were right, Carter."

He raised his eyebrows a little. I wished he wasn't this beautiful when sweat covered his brow and began tousling his hair.

"You could have a future in hockey, believe me, but that's not what you should do with your life." I couldn't avoid feeling like I was betraying my old friend, but nobody should dictate a child's future. "If it comes to that, I'll talk some sense into Dana."

"Thanks, Nate," Carter said. "I'm not sure I'll ever get there."

"Don't let yourself be defeated before the fight," I said.

He met my gaze now. It was as if he was pinning me against the wall with that knowing look. But he smirked after a moment and shook his head. "Does that mean I should keep trying?"

Shivers ran down my spine. "I…don't think that's wise."

"Of course not," he said. "You don't want someone like me."

Deep in my bones, I knew he had already surrendered all his fights. These were the words of someone who didn't care about the outcome. He spoke freely even if it doomed him. "Carter, there's twenty years between us."

"Eighteen and a half," he corrected me. "The third of August."

My birthday. "Regardless, your dad's been my closest friend since before you were born. I'm your coach, for God's sake."

Carter nodded. Something about his expression was changing, but I couldn't tell what it was. "You've barely spoken in two years. Besides, I don't have to be a Titan if that makes all the difference."

He was tempting me to be cruel, I realized. He wanted to hear me say the vicious words. He wanted me to tell him I didn't find him attractive, that I would never find him attractive, or he would continue this forever. But I couldn't bring myself to say it. "I thought you were doomed to play hockey forever," I said pointedly.

Carter sucked a breath of air sharply to argue with that, but Beckett and Caden reached our table, and the tension disappeared like some magician had taken it away with the sleight of hand. The boys put fresh beers on the table, and I pretended that Carter was old enough to drink. After all, he was old enough to wow the entire pub. And he was old enough to argue with me about destiny and the ways of the heart, even to leave me jumping through the logical loops just to make a point.

A pleased expression remained on Carter's face for the rest of the night, which didn't last very long at my insistence. We didn't speak much to one another. In fact, I didn't speak a lot at all. Four boys in a bar had a lot more to talk about to each other.

That night, while tossing and turning and waiting for our trip to Chicago, I couldn't get his music out of my head.